


The place we come from

by NikaAnuk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Family Story, Fluff and Angst, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Mummy Holmes is horrible, Romance, but hey, feel warned, there's Johnlock too!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:33:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaAnuk/pseuds/NikaAnuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Holmes family nothing is easy. There is a lot of bad memories and bad feelings and most of them comes from one source - Mummy.<br/>John Watson survived the war but is he strong enough to survive the family meeting in Holmes Manor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Again, my greatest thanks to lovely Chip for beta!  
> And Of course I made a HUGE mistake but I'm leaving it to you for now. I'll do something about this later.

1.

"The last time you saw Mummy was Christmas, Sherlock.” Mycroft's tone was more than displeased.

Sherlock snorted, not raising his gaze from his work. He was sitting on the couch, reading files Lestrade gave him this morning; with his sleeves rolled up and messy hair he looked almost like teenager again. Mycroft sighed and came closer. 

"This cannot be that important," he said, trying to keep calm. 

But Sherlock decided not to speak7; his big brother would spend the whole day like this - watching Sherlock ignore him - but John came upstairs. 

"Hello Mycroft," he greeted elder Holmes. "Sherlock, I brought you milk, so come and eat.”

Without hesitation, Sherlock left the files, stood up and went to the kitchen. 

"I don't need food, John," he said, sitting already at the table. 

Mycroft sighed, leaning on his umbrella, waiting until someone would talk to him; he did not expect his little brother to notice his presence, but, he hoped once John forced Sherlock to eat, he will come to the living room. 

He waited, listening to their chat; in spite of Sherlock's childish behaviours, John handed him a plate with toast and the cup of tea. The detective wrinkled his nose looking at the food. 

"We had a deal, Sherlock," the doctor reminded. "You eat after I come back with the shopping. So, enjoy your breakfast.” He came to the living room. 

"Oh, Mycroft." John stopped, surprised.”Right... How can I help you?” he asked with a smile. 

Mycroft straightened and opened his mouth to answer but then Sherlock shot him a gaze behind John's back; Mycroft only smiled politely

"It is Mummy's birthday soon," Mycroft explained, "and I want Sherlock to come. She would be happy to see him," Even though he was looking at John, he noticed Sherlock's reaction: his younger brother was pale and angry, and dropped his head. 

"Sure!” John nodded. "Of course. When it is?”

"You're expected in three days. I made a list." Mycroft took an envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to John. “This includes tips on how to behave, the time when you should be there, and directions, while I'm not sure if Sherlock remembers them.” 

John frowned, but took it from Mycroft. "You want me to come as well?” he asked. 

"Of course, John. Since you two have lived together for a year, you are almost like family. Also I need a guarantee that Sherlock will act properly.”

"So you want me to be his babysitter?” The doctor chuckled. 

Mycroft smiled again. 

"We both know that Sherlock values your opinion and that he is completely different around you. I just want Mummy to see that he's changed. She will appreciate it.”

Mycroft nodded to his brother - who was watching him again - and then left with a small hint of hope and much relief. He had felt with the hardest part. 

 

Three days later John found himself in rented car, going to the Holmes Manor. Sherlock drove, sulking; he hadn't said a word since the day before, and the doctor was a bit worried. He was sure that Sherlock was just upset because he was basically forced to go.

The house was big and built in an old style; it seemed very frightening in some way. John shrugged at the though of living in here. Standing in the big old park, Holmes Manor looked like a house from old children's stories. Sherlock stopped the car and they got out. John looked around as Sherlock opened the boot for a servant. They were greeted by a butler, who was waiting for them in the doorway. He took their coats and gave it to a young maid. 

Sherlock headed to the stairs, but Mycroft's voice caught them from the side door.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, brother?” 

“Up, to show John his room,” Sherlock said coldly turning to him.

John watched him with surprise. He just lied to Mycroft; even he could see this. Sherlock had lied sometimes, when he wanted a witness to tell him something important or when he was stealing evidence, but he never cared enough to lie to Mycroft; usually it was enough he ignored his brother. So why did he now? John wondered.

“Davis can walk him. Mummy cannot wait to see you.”

John rarely liked the way Mycroft was smiling at his brother, but this time, he wanted to punch him; the cold cruelty in his smile made John's guts twist. Sherlock tensed and, without a word, came closer to his older brother. Davis took his gloves and scarf when Sherlock stopped in front of Mycroft, watching his brother. 

“You are welcome too.” Mycroft smiled at John over Sherlock's shoulder. 

Sherlock half turned, like he wanted protest but he stayed silent. Mycroft made a face, but before he could opened his mouth, they heard quiet voice from the room behind the door. 

“Mycroft, is that your brother?” 

Both Holmes brothers froze. 

John never saw them doing anything at exactly the same time, but just before Sherlock straightened and moved to the door they tensed at one long second.

“Yes, Mummy," Mycroft answered looking at his brother serious. He pushed the door slightly open and John caught a glimpse of bookshelf covering at least one wall. “And Dr. Watson is here too."

John felt strange as he followed Sherlock to the library. Mycroft came in after them, closing the door. 

The room was huge and seemed empty; there was nothing in there except bookshelves standing by the walls and three armchairs under the big window. There was a porcelain teapot and three cups on the little table standing between the chairs. 'Three,' thought John, wondering if he is really welcome. 

They came closer and in the chair turned back to the door John saw beautiful, tiny old lady with almost white hair. 

Sherlock stood before her with a smile on his face. 

“Welcome my dear!” she greeted him, reaching to her younger son. 

Sherlock took her hand gently and lowered, kissing her fingers lightly, still with his eyes fixed on her face. 

“It is good to see you, Mummy,” Sherlock said, and, maybe it's because of his pose, but “mummy” sounded very official and hard. 

John was not sure what to do, especially since the woman did not even look at him. Mycroft took a place behind her armchair, Sherlock straightened slowly letting off her hand. If it could be possible he was moving with even more grace then usual. 

“I'm so glad you have finally arrived. Mycroft told me you have a lot of work helping him.”

John raised his eyebrows and Mrs. Holmes have noticed of course – she raised both boys after all - but she did not reacted. 

“Usually I don't help him” Sherlock answered. His voice sounds even more posh than when he was talking to Anderson. “But lately he had to ask me for help few times, I believe.” He finally reached to John. “You did not meet John Watson. He's an ex-army doctor sent back after he got injured.” 

John bowed lightly, Mrs. Holmes looked at him finally but did not make a move to greet him. 

“I see...” She had eyes darker then Sherlock – more blue than grey – and fingers so thin they looked like bones. 

“Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

She smiled polite but turned her head to Mycroft. 

“Give me tea, would you, love?” 

John dared to raise his eyes at Sherlock. The detective was still standing, his jaw clenched, but he tried to look very calm. 

Mycroft poured tea into the cup and handed it to his mother, but she did not take it.

“I like my tea black.” She said, looking at John again, he blinked with a surprise. “My doctor said that it's good for my health. Would you agree, Dr. Watson?” 

Something in her gaze told him to be careful. He knew a trap when he saw one. 

“I believe you're under a good care, ma'am," John replied, "and your doctor knows what's best for you."

She nodded slowly, looking like she was reflecting on his words. She took the cup from Mycroft and smiled once more. 

“Please boys, do sit down.” she offered. Sherlock took a seat in an armchair. John took the second one and the silence fell again. “I hope you are not offended by me addressing you as a 'boy', Dr. Watson.” Mrs. Holmes seemed to be the one who lead the conversation. “But you are such a nice boy... Older then Sherly of course...” She stopped looking at him. 

Mycroft from behind her stopped John from answering shaking his head lightly. 

“I asked Dr. Watson to take care of Sherlock, Mummy. The age difference is appreciated.” She looked at him. 

“Of course, dear. That is sad you do not have time for your brother but at least you had time to find someone who has nothing better to do than following a lot younger man.” 

Sherlock tensed but he did not say a word. John looked at Mrs. Holmes surprised, she was still smiling, hell, she did not even change her tone. Like saying things like this was part of the etiquette. Mycroft bowed lightly. 

“Of course, Mummy. I am always taking care of my little brother.”

She looked at Sherlock again, who forced himself to relax. “I must say I hoped you have found yourself a nice, young colleague, like Victor... Where is Victor these days?” 

“He died, Mummy.” Sherlock's answer was calm but his tone could freeze the water in a glass. 

“How long has that been?” She looked at him with a honest surprise. 

“He died before I graduated.” 

“Oh yes, now I remember. You spent two weeks in your room and refused to talk to anyone.” She clapped her hands. 

If John thought the atmosphere could not be more awkward, he was wrong; he never saw Sherlock in that state. He was ghostly pale; his hands lay calmly on the armrests, but John was sure Sherlock could not move them. He tried not to answer, not to move, not even breath. The tension of his body made John's skin crawl. Even Mycroft looked at his brother with a pity. 

“Mummy, would you excuse Sherlock and Dr. Watson? They just arrived, and I do believe they want to rest and change.” He leaned to her. 

She raised her eyes at him and nodded. 

“Of course my dear. Where are my manners? Go, go boys. I will not stop you any longer. Remember the dinner is at four!” 

John smiled and nodded. Sherlock stood up with difficulty and walked to the door. Mycroft followed them and stopped John, when he wanted go upstairs after Sherlock. 

“Take care of him,” he asked, then let him go, heading back to the library. 

John stared at the door for a long moment before he shook his head, trying to get out of shock, and made his way upstairs. 

When he stood on the first floor Davis appeared. 

“I'll show you your room, sir.” 

“I would like to see Sherlock first.”

“Of course, sir.”

The butler led John to second door on the left. John nodded and knocked. 

“Leave me!” he heard from inside. 

“Okay, thank you,” John said to the butler and came into the room. 

It was a large bedroom with bookshelves and a nice, old bed. John wondered why Sherlock needed such a big one if he hardly slept.

But his attention immediately caught Sherlock, walking from the wall to the wall, murmuring under his breath. His hands were white and he dug his nails so strong in the skin that John almost expected to see blood. 

“Sherlock...” John tried but Sherlock was so angry he did not even notice. John came closer to him and grabbed his arm to stop him. “Sherlock, look at me.” Maybe it was his tone or an order but Sherlock fixed his gaze at John's face. “It's okay now,” John said with a smile, taking Sherlock's hands to gently unbend his fingers. “It's all right,” he repeated. Sherlock sighed. “Come and sit down.” He led the detective to the bed and sat him down. 

“What annoyed you the most?” 

Sherlock looked at John blank but answered. 

“Her self confidence. She won, as always. I hate it!” 

“Hush, Sherlock.” John stood before Sherlock, their knees touched. “Look at me.”And Sherlock obeyed again. “Good, now listen to me. You didn't lose, Sherlock. But if you won't put yourself together, she'll win.”

Sherlock's face softened as he nodded slowly, still looking at John. There was something in him – some request, some need. He looked incredibly young at that moment. John leaned and kissed his forehead. Dark curls tickled him, and he smiled. Just after that he realized that before the kiss, Sherlock had loosen his grip, but now, when John's lips touched his head, he clenched his fists again. 

“I'm sorry,” John murmured but Sherlock quickly shook his head. 

“No, that's good. Thank you.”

John smiled. “Good. Show me my room then, will you? I should take a shower and make myself ready. I'm not sure if I have anything suitable to wear at dinner.”

“You do. Mycroft sent you suit, it's in your room.” 

John nodded and looked around again. 

“Is this your childhood room?” he asked. 

“No.” Sherlock's voice was blank. John looked at him, just then he realized they are still holding hands, and that Sherlock is cataloguing sensations. John felt himself blushing; Sherlock sees this too. 

“Will you... show me where my room is?” he asked again. 

“Davis will.” Sherlock finally let go John's hands and stood up from the bed. He looked almost normal, except red shade on his cheeks. He pulled lightly long sash and after few minutes the door opened. John was looked out of the window trying to ignore Sherlock's gaze focused on him. 

“Show Dr. Watson his room,” Sherlock ordered. Davis bowed to him.

John looked at the detective as he followed the butler. 


	2. The reason for everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things in Holmes Manor are getting curiouser and curiouser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Chip for beta!

John saw Sherlock two hours later when he came to his room to check if he was ready. Sherlock was adjusting his tie, looking at himself in the wardrobe's mirror. He always looked good but today... John felt something strange: a mix of jealousy, admiration and pride.

The detective didn't notice him, or maybe he just didn't have anything to say to him. Or maybe he knew what would happen right then; the door opened and Mycroft came in, looking at both Sherlock and John, seeming to know everything. John started to wonder if there was, in fact, anything to know. 

“Mummy knows," said Mycroft as Sherlock looked at him in the mirror. 

“She's ill,” the detective replied. 

“But still strong enough.”

“Is she angry?”

“I do not think so. She seemed more amused than angry.”

“She told...”

“She always talks, brother. Seeing Victor for the first time she asked you why you were dating a schoolboy.”

None of them paid any attention to John, and he felt strange standing next to them, listening to their conversation but not understanding much, like they were speaking in another language. But he understood that Sherlock once had a boyfriend, and that was interesting. 

Younger Holmes snorted as he adjusted his jacket, then looked at John. “Don't be afraid or offended," Sherlock said, calm and confident, "it's not about you.” 

“Dr. Watson," Mycroft said, looking at him like he just entered the room and not was there the whole time, “I know you were located in Sherlock's old room. I hope you find it comfortable.”

“So this is...”

“This is Mycroft's room,” answered Sherlock. 

“Um...” John looked around; there was nothing that could say which brother had lived here. “You don't keep any souvenirs here?”

“There are none,” Older Holmes answered. 

“Oh...” John nodded. This house and this family were nothing like any family he'd ever known. Now even his relations with Harry seemed very normal to him.

The Holmes brothers looked at themselves, and Mycroft smiled. Sherlock adjusted his cuffs and they stepped out of the room. John – who felt a bit forgotten, again – followed them downstairs. 

He expected that they would eat in huge dining room with windows and long dark table, but instead he was led to normal kitchen with table, cupboard and four chairs. Soon Mummy Holmes joined them, and the weird atmosphere came back. John started to regret that at least six chairs did not part him from that woman. 

Mycroft and Sherlock were polite; Mycroft talked with mother – thanks to which, he become John's personal hero – but Sherlock only answered questions, not interested in the conversation. But

John was Sherlock's companion long enough to learn observation. He noticed that Mummy talked with Mycroft, but sometimes she asked Sherlock about his opinion on the subject they dropped a few minutes ago, like she was checking if he was listening. Also, John noticed strange behaviour between the brothers; they used to fight almost constantly. John never saw them at the same site – Mycroft worried about Sherlock but Sherlock never showed even the slightest attachment to his older brother, despite of helping him sometimes. But now both of them seemed to protect each other. John hardly could believe it. Is this the way they lived years ago? He watched them eating starters, soup and entrée. The conversation was never dedicated to John; he was sitting like an air, but oddly the felt safe that way. At least, that was until they got their deserts. Mrs. Holmes mentioned something about her doctor and, for a moment, John felt a cold shiver down his spine. She immediately dropped the subject and did not come back to it. Later, John thought that maybe this was a manifestation, a way to show that she still remembers of him. For a moment he felt like he did on the battlefield. 

After the dinner Mrs. Holmes smiled at Sherlock. 

“Will you read to me, dear?”

“Of course, Mummy,” Sherlock got up woodenly and helped her to stand up and offered her his arm. 

“I do believe Mycroft will take care of your friend. And we can spend a few hours together...” Sherlock forced himself to smile. “Certainly," he said as he walked her out of the room; John and Mycroft were standing while the two left.

John shivered when the door closed behind them. He though that it was stupid, but one look at Mycroft told him that he was right. Elder Holmes was again sitting on his place with the glass of wine in his hand. He drank it with one swallow and put the glass down. 

“Well then, John, let me show you gardens.” He smiled at John as he stood up. “I'll tell you the family history”

John got up with hesitation; he was sure nothing should surprise him here, yet he was surprised with the pace which Mycroft put himself together. 

They went out to gardens behind the manor. The day was bright and sunny and gardens looked beautiful. Mycroft chose one of the paths and walked slowly with hands behind his back. John unbuttoned his jacket and took off the tie; he never felt comfortable in suits. They walked in silence for some time before Mycroft changed the direction. Soon John could admire the east part of building.

Mycroft chose a small bench to sit down, and John joined him with hesitation. “Those are the library's windows," he said incoherently nodding towards the building and then turned his head to John. “Sherlock will need your help.” 

Dr. Watson watched elder Holmes with a frown. 

“Why can't you help him? You're his brother and I believe this isn't the first time.” 

Mycroft smiled a bit and looked at the house again. “You're right, I should help him, but he will not trust me again.”

“Why?” John tensed. 

“Because I betrayed him.” Mycroft was still looking at the house, but John noticed a shadow of sadness in his smile. “I have left him here and went to London at uni. He could never forgive that and I cannot blame him.”

John wasn't sure why Mycroft was telling him this, also he was not sure if he wanted to know.

“The thing is, John, that everything has a beginning, and our is here. Once upon a time the house was a mental hospital, patients were gone long before our family move in but somehow the illness and despair stayed in it. Soaked into walls and make all residents a bit mad.” John was sitting in silence, watching Mycroft, now terrified. Elder Holmes was so serious that John could almost believe that there was something wrong with this house. The man looked at the doctor finally. “Our mother is very sensitive and her illness moved faster than anyone could expect, especially after our father's death. Sherlock is very sensitive too,” he added. Something in his tone made John shiver. 

He cleared his throat. “What do you mean?” 

“Now, when you know Mummy a little, you can tell which mood Sherlock will come back with.”

“Angry, irritated...”

“And upset. I'm sure you never saw my brother this upset before, but he will be. And he needs someone to take care of him. Since I do not know anyone better, you have to do this.”

“You really care about him?” John asked, surprised. 

“Constantly.” Mycroft stood up and nodded at John. “Let's go, we have a really beautiful pond in the park. Patients used to swim there.”

And he was himself again – posh, self confidence and polite. 


	3. The right time and place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of romance, a lot of Mummy Holmes and a scene with Holmes Brothers (I should really write something only about them one day). 
> 
> Big thanks to Chip for beta!

After their return, John came to Sherlock's room instead of his. He walked around for a while, then stopped by the window; the room could belong to anyone, it did not look boyish, even if Mycroft did not live here for a while, and it still could have some souvenirs. John turned to the bookshelf and picked up one book - Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea; he sat down in the armchair near to the fireplace with book in hand.

Skipping through the pages, he did not notice the passing time but suddenly the door opened and Sherlock hurried inside; he could hardly stop himself from slamming the door behind him. John looked at him; he had never seen him so angry and helpless.

John's first impulse was to to stand up and comfort him, but he resisted and only watched him for a few minutes. Maybe he was not as smart as Sherlock, but he learns fast, and now he collected things he could deduce from Sherlock's behaviour. 

Obviously he was angry, very nervous, pale; his hands must have been sweaty because he wiped them few times ruining his trousers. There was something more, but it took John a few minutes to put Sherlock's pale face, nervous walk and panting in one diagnose. Sherlock was scared. Or at least he was scared before, because now he acted like he just woke up from a nightmare. And maybe he did. 

John finally left the book and stood up. 

“Sherlock...” he started, but the detective cut him off. 

“You've been waiting for me in this room, but didn't find it interesting so you pick up a book. You didn't choose well because you did not chose at all. That's why you only read about two chapters. You don't like Verne, and also, you prefer to have tea when you're reading. See?” He finally stopped and looked at John for the first time since he came in. “I'm perfectly fine.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows with surprise – Sherlock was far from being well – but he only nodded, smiling lightly.

“Brilliant as always,” he responded, which somewhat helped. Sherlock visibly relaxed, started to breath calmer and loosen his fists. Then John decided to approach him. 

“I was worried.” 

Sherlock looked at him with a surprise. 

“Why? I'm fine.”

John smirked. 

“Only your hands are sweaty, your pulse is high and you're shaking.” John noticed and grabbed Sherlock's arms.

And again just like the last time Sherlock started to catalogue sensations, watching John carefully; this time John did not move away. He smiled lightly, remembering what Mycroft had said. 

Sherlock slowly moved his hands down John's arms, the doctor holding his breath, trapped in those eyes. They were standing like this for a while; John barely noticed that Sherlock was closer, that he stopped with hesitation over him. And at the end, John was the one who broke the distance between them and brushed his lips against Sherlock's. 

At first the detective did not move, allowing John to touch him carefully, but when he felt doctor's tongue on his lips he not only parted them but also cupped John's face, pulling him closer.

John could not say what happened next; he felt heat, his fists were clenched on Sherlock's jacket, he was kissing him back, hearing moaning. And suddenly his fingers were tangled in dark curls, pulling Sherlock even closer. He lost himself in detective's touch and taste... 

There was this thought, 'Sherlock was scared, but maybe this is his way to get over it...' But then Holmes' hands slipped at John's arse, causing a long moan. 

A knocking at the door left them panting, shaking and gasping. John jumped away, finally aware of what he was doing. 

“Come in” Sherlock said firmly, watching John.

He was blushing and there was something in his eyes but his breath was calm. 

Mycroft came in and John almost groaned.

“Did I interrupt?” he asked. 

“No.” They answered at the same time. 

“I'll leave you,” John added as he passed by the detective and his brother. 

Mycroft smiled at him politely and closed the door.

John stopped in a corridor, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down, when Davis appeared next to him. 

“Could you show me to the bathroom?” Doctor asked and the butler bowed, leading him to a small bathroom next to John's room. He thanked Davis and locked the door, almost collapsing. 

For God's sake, he had an erection! How could he stay calm when those eyes and lips... He remembered the way Sherlock was watching him after they parted.

John splashed his face with cold water and went to his room; it looked similar to Mycroft's, books were even from the same series. He chose one of them – Secret Garden this time – and he raised his eyebrow. There were notes made by a child's handwriting on almost every page; he sighed, sat down and opened to the first page. 

But even with the book in his hands he could not forget about Sherlock, who kissed him in a way which left John breathless for a moment. What does it tell about himself? That Sherlock was a good kisser? That kissing a man was a bit different than kissing a woman? That John found himself eager to kiss him again? John once – once in his entire life – wanted to touch a man in this way; he was sixteen, and it was not even that badly. Now the only thing he could think about was softness of Sherlock's hair and – how could he have not noticed it earlier? - his smell. 

John Watson was doomed and he knew it very well. 

When Davis came into his room to ask him to come to supper, John almost felt relief – one hand he had to see Sherlock, and on the other hand he was tired of sitting alone. 

He changed and walked to the dining room. The only person in the room was Mummy Holmes. John felt shiver down his spine. She smiled at him – Mycroft's frightening smile was nothing compared to hers – and pointed at the chair opposite to her. 

“Please, take a seat, Dr. Watson," she said, eyeing his clothes. "The boys will be here in a moment. I see you have never eaten in such company before.”

He felt as if he was blushing, but stayed calm. 

“You're right ma'am,” he admitted, smiling at her. “I was born in rather poor family. My father worked as a technical in metro.”

She looked at him calmly, like her sons did, but with one difference - everything she was doing, she was doing to hurt. 

“I am wondering... You are a doctor, but it had to cost you a lot to pass the exams.”

He shook his head. “I like to learn, ma'am. It was hard but I'm very scrupulous person.”

“I wanted Sherly to become a doctor, too, but he... Well, he was always very stubborn. Maybe you would do something good for him and help him to calm down instead of using his young heart and mind?” She asked still smiling. 

John felt a rush of anger, but he knew he could not show her how pissed he was. He himself told Sherlock that he had to remain still if he does not want Mummy to win. So now he just nodded. 

“I assure you, ma'am that I'm doing everything in my power to help him.”

“And I should probably not ask you for so much. It is hard to follow my dear Sherly... Mycroft was always a bit slow but Sherly... Victor could help him; they had such a good influence on each other, but then Victor died and, well, Sherlock lost himself a little. I have heard an awful rumours about him, alcohol, drugs...” She shook her head, developing a more somber expression. 

John could not believe that she was actually trying to blacken Sherlock in his eyes. His own mother for God's sake! He swallowed his anger. 

What did Mycroft say? That she knows? About what? Him and Sherlock? Would it be possible for her to know about them before they knew? Probably yes; she was Holmes' mother after all. Was this the reason why she was trying to piss him off?

“I'm perfectly aware of Sherlock's state, ma'am. I live with him, as Mycroft said, to keep him safe and healthy. So I'm very well informed about his previous addictions.”

“You think he is not addicted now?”

“I'm sure he is. But I make sure he remains clean.”

“You must be a very lonely man, Dr. Watson. All alone, without a family, wounded and looking for a pity and a company of a much younger boy.” 

John gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. The worst part was that she acted like she was doing something good for him, like she had sympathy and she cared. It was perfectly clear she did not. 

He almost lost his nerves, but then the door open and Sherlock came in. 

“I hope you did not start without me,” he said, taking his place at the table 

He was perfectly calm and cool. John forced himself to look at him and gave him a casual smile. 

“No, I was just chatting with your mother.”

If there were rules, he could play too. He knew she was too smart for him, but he had both Holmes brothers at his side, so he somehow felt safe. 

Mycroft joined them a moment later so they could eat. John did not dare to talk - Mycroft and Sherlock had done everything to keep their mother away from him – but he watched them with an interest. Maybe he could understand now why Sherlock hated meals so much. Eating with such a company had to be a real nightmare. Even John caught himself not eating. He could not take a bite because of his nerves. One week here and he would probably stop eating. And Sherlock and Mycroft spent their childhood here. 

The supper ended soon when Mummy said she has a migraine and she wished to lie down. They stood up when she was leaving and none of them sat down again. 

“I believe we have enough of eating for tonight," said Mycroft. “We should go to sleep.”

Sherlock looked at John and walked out. Watson nodded to elder Holmes and followed after his brother. 

John found e detective on the terrace near the back of the house. Sherlock was leaning against the balustrade, smoking. 

“I see where all you bad habits come from,” John said, standing next to him.

“Try to stay calm in this mad house,” Sherlock replied, looking out into the dark garden. 

John nodded. Watching Sherlock, so exhausted and so calm, was a strange thing; there was nothing from his usual energy nor the brilliance. John raised his hand and with hesitation placed it on Sherlock's shoulder. 

“You did well today," he said. 

Sherlock chuckled, humorless.

“I left you with her," the detective pointed out. 

“Oh, I'm fine. I was in the war, remember?” 

Sherlock threw the but away and looked at the doctor. 

“Believe me, war is nothing compared to this," he said bitterly. 

“She thinks I'm too old for you,” John said not looking at the detective, his hand slipping off the balustrade.

“Of course,” the detective snorted. “Too old, too poor, not good enough in every inch.”

“But I'm a man, doesn't that bother her?” John asked, looking at the detective again.

“No, because she doesn't think I would create a normal relationship.” Sherlock shrugged, but something in his posture told John how uneasy he felt about that. He placed his hand gently on Sherlock's cheek. 

“Do you think you can?” 

Sherlock remained still for a moment, and then he nodded. He wrapped his arm around John's waist and pulled him closer. 

“But only with you.”

John smiled and raised his head to kiss detective's lips. The light peck soon changed into slow, long kiss. 

“I like it very much,” Watson murmured, blushing. 

“Tomorrow we're going back home.” Sherlock said, looking John in the eye. He cupped the doctor's face. “And we'll be very happy. If you let me...”

There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like he was afraid that the moment they leave the Holmes Manor and Mummy Holmes behind, John would change his mind. The doctor smiled and kissed him again. 

“And from the love you have for me, you'll start to eat and sleep with me.” He joked. 

Sherlock snorted, and kissed John again before leaving him. 

“Come, we're getting up early. We'll leave after breakfast.” 

He took John's hand and led him to his room. 

“Do you think we should sleep together?” 

“I'm not going to sleep," the detective answered. “I'm going to read, but you should rest.”

At first John dropped his gaze, blushing. Well, that was a bit quick, right? But then he looked at the man. 

“You have to sleep, Sherlock. You haven't slept in five days.”

“Six.” The detective said as he closed the door behind them. “But I'm not tired, and besides, I wouldn't sleep in here.” John furrowed his eyebrows and stopped in the middle of the room. Sherlock turned to him. “Yes, John?”

“How about some experiment?” The doctor asked. 

“What kind of experiment?”

“I'm pretty sure that I can put you to bed and make you fall asleep in here. In this bedroom.”

Holmes raised his eyebrow with an interest. That was a dare and it sounded so sweet... He rested his hand on his hip and smirked. 

“Try me, Dr. Watson.”

“Well, that won't be hard.” 

John locked the door and walked to the small table to turn on the lamp and after that he curtained off the window and looked at Sherlock. 

“Now, change into pyjamas, will you?”

In the gold light Sherlock's face seemed younger. He nodded, without a word, curious about John's idea. He took his pyjamas out of the wardrobe and changed, hiding no more than just standing behind the open wardrobe's door.

In meantime, John took off the bed cover and tried the pillows; the bedding was fresh and he himself felt the need to lie down. But instead he took of his clothes and when Sherlock came closer to the bed, John was in his boxers only. 

“Okay. Now, lie down and close your eyes.” The doctor smiled. 

Still surprised and doubtful, Sherlock did what he was told and slipped under the duvet. The bed was comfortable, but not too soft. The pillows smelled of fresh flowers, and the duvet was nice and cool. He moved his feet and let out a sigh. Then he felt the other man slipping next to him and he felt the heat of the other body. That was even more fascinating than John, who was telling him what to do. He did not open his eyes, focused on the smell of John's skin, on his breath and his hand lying near Sherlock's arm. 

“Now...” The voice was soft and Holmes smiled lightly. “With your eyes closed, collect all sensations which you can.”

“You were using the new shampoo this morning," the detective murmured. “You were nervous during the dinner, I can smell your sweat. But you're calm now, you can't control your breath completely. You're smiling...”

“How can you tell?” asked John, who was really smiling.

“I know you. You're always smiling when I'm doing deductions or when I talk about someone.” 

John laughed lightly and nodded. 

“Right. What else?”

“You're aroused, judging by your body temperature, or you have a fever, which isn't true, because I would've notice that. However, your feet are cold, which means that you have low blood pressure and you should do something about that.” 

John brushed his fingers along Sherlock's arm. 

“And now?” he asked seductive voice. 

Sherlock shrugged visibly and John congratulated himself. 

“Now I can see that you are trying to seduce me, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock opened his eyes and turned to John; he was lying on his side, facing Sherlock, with one arm under his head. Sherlock placed his hand on his cheek and kissed him. 

“You were suppose to go to sleep, Sherlock.”

“I hate sleeping here. We used to read in the library a lot during the nights. When Mummy went to sleep we would sneak out of our rooms and just go there to spend some time in peace.” 

John shifted closer to the detective. 

“I can't understand why you don't talk to each other any more,” he admitted.

Sherlock smiled as he wrapped his arm around the man. He was busy with something right now, so he just stayed like that, finding John's presence more than welcome, and he waited. It was not long until the doctor fell asleep. And as hard it was, Sherlock carefully got up from the bed. No matter what the man was saying, Sherlock would never sleep here. He just couldn't. Never in his bed. Back in the past, Mummy used to come during the night to check if they both were in their beds, so Sherlock never felt safe in there. If he slept in the house, he chose Mycroft's bed or library's sofa. Never alone and never in his bed. 

He tied his dressing gown and walked to the library in silence. There was light under the door and when Sherlock came in he noticed his brother – sitting in his usual armchair with a book. 

Mycroft raised his gaze and smiled a bit. 

“I thought you would be rather busy tonight," Mycroft admitted, taking a sip of his tea.

He was wearing his shirt and trousers from the supper, but three buttons were undone and the sleeves were rolled up; messy hair and glasses on the tip of his nose finished the very untidy look. 

Sherlock smirked and walked to the shelf to choose a book. 

“I thought we agreed you would never force me to come here again," said the younger brother as he took the other armchair. He did not miss the fact that there were two cups. 

“You saw her, Sherlock. And I spoke to her doctor.”

“I though he was in her control...”

“Not since I was the one who paid him,” Mycroft said, not looking up from his book. “Anyway, she's dying, Sherlock. And as far as I know, none of us will mourn after her; she deserve to see she was wrong about at least one of us.”

Sherlock looked at his brother, placing the book on the table.

“So why aren't you here with Lestrade?”

“Because you know perfectly well that we're not together anymore. You and John, on the other hand, weren't together, but at least there was hope.”

“Don't be pathetic.”

“I'm not.” Mycroft left his book and looked at his brother. “I showed her that I took a good care of you, even if I did it against her will. And you showed her that there is someone who wants to live with you. I think we both win.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Sherlock opened his book. He smiled at the notes he had done as a child. 

“What about her will?” he asked after a moment. 

“As we agreed, everything is mine; you get some money to live as always, and nothing changes. If this will be necessary, we will change the will. Or you just give me all the stuff you don't want. You didn't think about changing the agreement, did you?” He raised his gaze at Sherlock again.

Younger Holmes shook his head. 

“Of course not. You deserve it.”

Mycroft only smiled.

The two of them spent the night sharing the silence and the peace of the place like many times before. Mycroft busy with his book – his most beloved  _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ – Sherlock with his legs straight, crossed in ankles, with his clasped hands under his chin. There was no talking and no moving. The pot was still full of hot tea but none of them bother to thank or even notice Davis. 

Eventually Sherlock stood up and left the library heading to his bedroom. John was still asleep and the detective lay down next to him, wrapping his arm around his waist. It might be even like he fell asleep for a moment or two. The thing what woke him up was John turning around. 

“It looks like I won.” He smiled, and Sherlock just kissed him lightly. No need to explain. 


	4. Our start in new life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! With Chip as my beta once again I was able to finish this and God help me, I really didn't think it would be that hard at the end. This verse deserve probably longer story but for now there are two different stories I'm writing so this one will have to wait.   
> Enjoy!

4.

The day started very lazy for John, when he woke up and saw Sherlock beside him in bed. He smiled and cupped his cheek.   
“It looks like I won.”   
Sherlock only kissed him, leaning over him. John smiled at the weight of his lean body, long legs and pale arms, mess of dark curls just above his head. The doctor reached to them and brushed his hand through Sherlock's hair.   
“Hullo.”  
“Morning. Brush your teeth.”  
John laughed, pulling Holmes closer and hiding his face in the crouch of pale neck. Sherlock purred quietly when John's nose brushed against his skin. John moved his face against it and kissed him lightly.   
“Then you have to get up.” He murmured against Sherlock's throat.   
“Mhm...” Holmes wrapped his arms around John and pressed his face into fair hair. “Later.”  
Watson laughed and cuddled Sherlock. They spent another few minutes in silence. Holmes' fingers were tracing circles and patterns on John's back; John was just lying with his nose pressed against Sherlock's collarbone. He licked his lips and tried to raise his head.   
“I really have to go.” He said.  
Holmes had his eyes closed; he was breathing deeply and didn't react at John's movement. And doctor lay down back not wanting him to wake up.   
Eventually there was knocking at the door and Sherlock immediately woke up.   
“Sir, Mr. Holmes asks you to come for breakfast.”  
“Thank you, Davis.” Sherlock's voice was rough and he stretched with a yawn. “Are you all right?” he asked John.  
“Yeah, of course. I'm going to change.”  
“You don't have to be formal. Mummy won't join us today,” Sherlock said when John got up from the bed.  
“Is she sick?” The doctor stopped to look at him.   
“No, she rarely eats before eleven. And we want to avoid this meeting.”  
He stood up as well and walked to his bathroom John smiled to himself and left to his own room. This time there were no clothes waiting for him only fresh towel. It was good for John, he could at least once feel comfortable around this house.   
They were eating in a small room, only the three of them. When John came in, Mycroft was there already, sitting with a newspaper, a cup of coffee on the table before him.   
“Morning.” John smiled at him; elder bother looked at him from above his glasses and nodded.   
“Good morning, John. I hope you had a good sleep.”  
“Yeah, quite good. I've heard Mummy is fine?”  
“Of course, she'll eat later. Please, enjoy your meal. Coffee? Tea?”  
“Tea...”  
One of maids poured tea to his cup and handed it to him. He started to eat, Mycroft returned to his newspaper. The silence at the table for once wasn't uncomfortable, John could take a good look of the room – outside great windows were garden and there were portraits hang on the walls. When Sherlock came in, John was finishing his second toast with fresh jam. He smiled at the detective happily.   
“This house is truly beautiful.” He admitted.   
“It was a wedding gift for our grandparents from their parents.” Sherlock sat down.   
“Actually, dear brother” Mycroft folded his newspaper and placed it on the table. “He build it himself.” Sherlock looked at him annoyed but Mycroft turned his gaze at John. “You see, in Holmes' family there's a custom that when someone is getting married he's getting a flat or a house. But unfortunately our grandfather wasn't that lucky, his father didn't like Amelia...”  
“Sylvia, Mycroft. Grandmother's name was Sylvia.”   
“Of course, Amelia was her sister. In any case, Sylvia wasn't accepted in family so they didn't get anything. For grandfather it was unpardonable offence so he decide he'll build himself a better house.”  
“Very pretentious.” Sherlock winced, drinking his tea.  
“You liked it.”   
“I was a child, Mycroft, I had no idea how pretentious it is.”  
John hid his smile behind the cup. They were like always again, fighting children, but it was good to see them acting normal. Sherlock was relaxed, however he did not eat. Mycroft ate but only a toast which he washed down with a cup of coffee. A lot of food in this house must have been wasted.   
John thought about it uneasily; he remembered breakfasts back at home when he and Harry sometimes had to add water to milk so there was enough for both of them. Funny how different people they were.   
Sherlock took his hand and John looked at him with a surprise.   
“Whatever remain they will eat it later.” He said.   
John dropped his mouth.  
“How did you...”   
Sherlock smiled wide.   
“You were looking at the food, not at me not eating only at the food which remain, you didn't wonder what you want to eat. Also you clenched your left hand, what means bad memories. You doesn't come from poor family but I'm sure there were hard times. It's really not that hard.”   
John shook his head in disbelief.  
“And I thought that one day I'll get use to it.”  
“I hope not! It would spoil the whole fun.”  
Doctor Watson squeezed his hand and caught a glimpse of Mycroft hiding his smile behind his cup. They finished the meal in calm atmosphere, Sherlock talking about his early cases at Uni and John trying to get any information about his early life. He was surprised how long the breakfasts lasted; they finished eating, Mycroft was reading again and Sherlock was talking. John wondered if they would sit so long without him. They did not even look at each other!   
Eventually Davis came to say that the luggages are prepared as well as car and just then Holmes brothers stood up.   
Mycroft rolled down his sleeves and adjusted his shirt. He was only walking them to door. No one said this, but Mycroft apparently was staying longer. John could not imagine the reason for staying here for an hour longer, but Mycroft was raised here, he could not be completely sane.   
As for himself and Sherlock, John was happy that they were leaving. It was only two days, but he was more than tired. The only good thing was that he could walked to the car holding Sherlock's hand and that he in the slightest understood Sherlock's hatred for eating and sleeping. He knew now that this is not because of the eccentric way Sherlock lived, it was a remain after a very hard childhood. And to tell the truth, John was a bit afraid to even think what else must have been there.   
But when they stopped in the doorway and the day was bright and warm, John only smiled. He was happy having Sherlock so close, and he believed that everything would be fine in the end.   
“I will say your 'goodbye' to Mummy.” Mycroft smiled at them. “I hope you have spent a nice two days, Doctor Watson.” He added.   
John really couldn't help himself but to raise an eyebrow, because the visit was far from being 'nice'. But he just nodded; no need to being rude to Mycroft, they both done their best to help him and to protect him.   
“It was not that bad.” He answered.   
Brothers looked at each other but did not say a word. Sherlock walked to their car and John followed after him. There was so much between them he did not understand and he did not believe he would; those were Holmes' brothers things.   
“You hated it," said Sherlock when they got into the car.   
“What?” John fastened his seat belt.   
“You hated it, this place and my mother.”   
“I think your mother is really difficult person to live with, and I have to tell you, I don't know how you survived so long here.”  
Sherlock shrugged and started the engine. “Well, we're coming home now. I'm tired of this.”  
“Don't you feel bad because he's staying there?”  
Mycroft was standing in the doorway, watching them as they were driving away, Sherlock looked at him in the rearview mirror and focused on the road before them.   
“When Mummy dies he gets everything. I have no pity for him.”  
John reached and squeezed his hand. There was hardly anything he could say, since his own family was... well, normal. In compare to Sherlock's, of course. But if being a part of this crazy family was the price for being with Sherlock, he would never refuse.   
John looked out of the window with a smile. It was not that bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it. Thanks for reading and thanks for staying with me that long. You were great!


End file.
